


Seeing Clearly

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
Genre: Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Light Torture, Mercy - Freeform, One Shot, Torment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2k14 movie ‘verse. A one shot filling in the gap between the boys’ capture and their imprisonment. Why was Donatello allowed to keep his glasses when everything else was stripped from him? An unexpected act of mercy in a storm of fear and pain brings two destined paths closer towards convergence.</p><p>Rated T for violence - 2,239 words <br/>Hurt/Comfort (of a kind) <br/>(the spark of something between LeoxKarai)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Clearly

**Seeing Clearly**

They filed through the double doors, wrists bound, shuffling their feet, shackled around their ankles; surrounded by the soldiers who continued to prod their bodies with the electrified rods.  Shaking with fright, Mikey looked back over his shoulder to Leo, who came up directly behind him. 

He grimaced and jumped as one of the soldiers shocked him under his arm.  He ground his teeth together and with wide eyes, did his best to shake off the pain, panting.

Mikey’s frightened voice cut through the haze of pain he felt, “Leo!  Leave ‘em alone!  Stoppit!” 

One of the men struck Mikey in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol to silence him.  He stumbled forward with a moan.  Swaying on his feet and barely righting himself before falling.

“No!  It’s okay,” Leo called out and staggered forward.  “It’s okay, Mikey.  Just . . . don’t . . .”

“Ungh!” Donnie cried out behind them, drowning out Leo’s words.  The men seemed to want to torment him more than Leonardo or Michelangelo.  They continuously shocked him and struck him as they hustled him down the short hallway.  “ _Haah, mmh, ugh_.”

Mikey twisted around just as he was forced backwards into a small chamber, the size of a closet.  Three of the walls were made of thick glass.  He spun around, lurching back through the opening.  “Donnie!?  Leave my brother alone!”  A fist knocked him back.  A cage door slammed in place and the sound of deadbolts firing filled the air.  He rushed the bars and slammed into them.  “Leo!?”

Leo shuffled forward.  His face darted around.  His eyes locked on Mikey who stared out at him desperately from between the metal bars of the steel cage door.  He shook his head, meaning to tell Mikey to stay calm.  To not harm himself more by struggling.

Mikey’s face crushed into a look of anguish, “Leo, what?”

A group closed in on his brother and prodded him mercilessly; firing into his arms and legs and neck repeatedly, until his knees buckled and he fell to the floor with a strained whimper.  The air filled with a sulfurous scent, laced with the sickening smell of burnt flesh.  Michelangelo screamed for them to stop. Not caring that he was begging their captors for mercy.  Anything to make them stop hurting his brothers.  Donatello rushed forward only to be shoved back and pummeled with the hilt of several of the men’s rifles until he cowered back. 

They kicked and dragged Leonardo’s quaking body forward.  He yelped and groaned and slumped into the chamber.  The cage door cranked.  Steel bars filled the empty space.  The locks clicked into place.  Leo growled and clambered to his feet.  He pressed into the bars; his red-rimmed eyes searching until he found Donnie coming up last, surrounded by the remaining guards. 

Donatello, cheek swollen and lip bleeding, glanced at Mikey, then at Leo as he passed by them, wide-eyed and clearly terrified.  He swallowed back a whimper at seeing his beloved brothers beaten and caged like animals.

Mikey cried out, as he squeezed one arm between the bars, as far as he could with the short length of chain between the cuffs at his wrist; catching hold of a cord on Donatello’s equipment.  “Donnie!” 

The men braced the electric rods against his inner elbow.  They shocked Mikey’s arm until his fingers jumped and finally released the cord.  Knees collapsing, he gripped the bars weakly, calling out for his brother.

“It’s okay,” Donatello hollered over his shoulder, voice hoarse from pain. 

“Get that stuff off him,” came the muffled voice of one of the masked soldiers.

Donatello backed up into the group, who shoved him forward.  They fumbled with him. 

“W-Wait,” Donnie panted, not wanting his delicate equipment crushed or damaged.  It had taken him so long to hunt these components down through the heaps of garbage; these scraps meticulously sought after and diligently scavenged; the delicate wiring and sensitive electronics that he’d lovingly tinkered with; coaxing compatibility from the mismatched pieces until they hummed in synchronized unity.

But the men had no regard for his craftsmanship or attachment to his work.  They started to yank and pull roughly at his gear; spinning him around and striking him when he tried to resist until one of them kicked the back of his knees.  He buckled forward.  Another smacked him, knocking his glasses from his face.  He ripped the modified night-goggles from his head, tossing them to one side with the rest of his equipment.

Donatello gasped and cast around.  “W-Wait, please,” he choked as he heard the unmistakable sound of fracturing glass.  His chest tightened.  His face burned as he was jostled; feeling the men’s hands on him as they roughly removed the last of his gear.  The back of his head was shoved down.  He was knocked to one side as a belt was stripped from his shell attached to some of the solar panels at his waist.  He noticed his glasses and reached forward with shaking hands for them.

Above him, someone chuckled and with the tip of a boot, kicked them just out of his reach.  Donatello blinked and flinched.  If he didn’t need them to see, he would have just left them.  But something about not being able to see what was happening to his brothers left a cold pit in the center of his stomach.  They would at least let him have his sight, wouldn’t they?  He took in a deep breath and reached once more.  Again they were knocked just out of his grasping fingers.  More laughter erupted around him.  Mocking him.

Head down, Donatello eyed the man in front of him and a low, menacing growl rose up from deep in the back of his throat.  The laughter stopped immediately.  There was a tense pause.  Donnie reached once more for his glasses when the boot heel came down, crushing his fingers.  He hissed in pain.  He jerked back, but the large man kept him pinned, pressing all his weight onto the mutant’s curled fingers.  Slowly he ground his heel back and forth.  Donnie gasped; he cried out and writhed. 

“Leave him alone!” Leonardo screamed as he slammed into the bars with his shoulders.  “Get off him! _Bastards!! I’ll kill you!”_

“Stoppit!  Just let him have his glasses,” Mikey begged, tearfully. 

The men ignored both threats and pleas.  Someone jeered, “The poor four-eyed freak needs his glasses,” to much hysterical laughter.

Mikey growled and screamed as loud as he could, _“You creeps!”_

The laughter continued as Donnie struggled to free his crumpled fingers.  Crippling pain rippled up through his arms and into his shoulders.  He gasped and squirmed. 

Some of the men taunted Leo and Mikey from behind the bars, shocking them and pulling the rods away before either of the mutants could try and grab hold of the painful weapons.  Insults and curses were hurled at them.  Someone spat at Mikey who cringed back and rubbed it from his face, humiliated and horrified at how they were being treated.

Light suddenly flooded the cramped space and the men fell quiet and uneasy.  The laughter dying like scattering leaves across cracked cement.  The sound of clacking heels broke over Donatello’s soft whimpering and soft gasps of pain.  The men parted to allow a petite soldier through.  She eyed the group from beneath a thick fringe of dark hair, tinged bright pink at the ends.  She hesitated in front of the cages between Mikey and Leonardo.  She gave them a sidelong glance, lingering a moment on Leonardo, her eyes roving over him, a glint of something like curiosity arose, before turning to the man pinning Donatello.

Her voice was strong, confident and laced with an accent, “What are you doing?  You were ordered to get them into the cages.”

The man removed his boot and Donatello fell back onto his heels, cradling his trembling hands on his lap as best as he could with them bound.  His fingers throbbed and ached as he held them close to his stomach. 

The dark haired woman moved closer.  The men shrank back.  Donatello blinked up at her.  She considered him with a blank expression.

“Get him into the cage, you fool.”

The man who had just been tormenting him turned to grab him.  But Donatello lunged for his glasses.  The soldier gripped the back of his shell.  They scuffled until Karai reached down and shoved the man back, breaking them up.  She threw an elbow into his throat and the man fell back, choking; his mask askew.  The soldiers caught him and pulled him back.

“Enough of this!”

Donatello winced and strained as several men dragged him back by the shoulders and head.  Exposing his neck to her; his pulse fluttering wildly.  A blade gleamed in the woman’s hand, positioned just under his chin.  He felt the bite of the steel cutting into the delicate skin of his throat.  He ran his tongue across his bleeding bottom lip; his throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly.

“Resist again and I slit you open.”  She pressed the tip harder and Donatello winced.  A soft whimper broke from him.  “There’s more than one way to collect your blood.”

“Don’t hurt him.  H-He just wants his glasses,” came a voice from behind.  Small and frightened.

Leo watched, pressed tightly against the bars, mute and frozen with terror.  Helpless to protect his younger brother.  Teeth gritted and muscles coiled.  If this woman decided to kill him, there was nothing that Leonardo could do to stop her.  He silently prayed for mercy.

Karai cocked her head.  Slowly, she straightened up; her eyes never leaving Donatello’s. “Glasses?”

Donnie blinked and nodded slightly.  “I-I need them . . . to s-see,” he stuttered.

With a graceful twist, she swept the glasses from the floor and held them out, examining them in one hand.  Turning them over, noting the tape on the bridge and smirking.  She jutted her chin at the men holding him and they relinquished their grip, allowing him to fall forward onto his knees.  He panted and glanced around. 

Karai hefted the glasses and jabbed the knife back into its hilt on her belt.  She breathed onto the lenses, keeping one brow cocked, her eye on him the entire time; then rubbed them against the dark fabric of her uniform; still smirking, and yet, something flickered through her dark green eyes. Some emotion too quickly masked for Donatello to take note and evaluate.  She leaned forward and with gentle care placed them on the bridge of his nose.  His eyelids fluttered.  With her index finger, she slid them into place.

She spoke softly, “A warrior who wishes to see clearly the face of death as it comes to collect him . . . is a warrior worthy of honor.”

Donatello blinked and sat mute and dazed as she straightened up.  She considered him briefly, turned slightly and brought her gaze to rest on his brothers who stared back with expressions of relief and wariness.  She dropped her eyes, and seemed to compose herself.  With a sharp gesture of her wrist, she had the men hoist Donatello into the cage next to his brothers.  She spun on her heel and marched through the crowd of soldiers.

“No more foolishness, my Foot soldiers.  You’ve kept my father and Sacks waiting long enough.”

Gears groaned and a cranking sound filled the air as the cages shifted and lurched.  The soldiers pulled open double doors at the far end of the narrow space and the four cages, three of which were filled with the captured mutants, rolled forward towards the lab.  The movement paused as the men made adjustments in the track.

Karai sauntered past the middle cage.  She cast a furtive glance once more at the mutant within.  He returned her look, locking his eyes on hers.  Studying her as much as she did him.  And if there was gratitude in his gaze for the small mercy she bestowed upon his brother, she couldn’t tell beyond the anger and the veneer of fear over his ice-blue eyes.  His unflinching gaze left her feeling unsettled; so human behind the mask . . . compelling. 

They were strange creatures, much like the Kawataro from the books of Suijin she had read and obsessed over when just an adolescent.  Tales of clever creatures lurking beneath the water; fond of taking women and impregnating them.  Her eyes trailed along the mutant’s body, lingering lower until the soldiers’ voices, calling out to the lab workers to prepare the equipment, interrupted her curious train of thought.

She blinked and shook herself, stepping away from the cage.  Distancing herself from that strangely alluring gaze.  It made no difference.  Whatever they actually were, mutant, monster, or something else entirely, they’d be dead before the night was finished.  The cages lurched again and started to roll once more towards the laboratory for Sacks’ appraisal and the commencement of their operations.

She huffed and kept walking, feeling the eyes of the mutant in blue watching her as she hurried away; telling herself she was not fleeing from that magnetic gaze and her cheeks were not any warmer than they normally felt.  Refusing to see clearly the effects these mutants were having on her; even after just spending but a few moments around them; and the potential chaos these feelings boded for her future.

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